


A Story of Rapid Oxidation

by bbcsherlockian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Internal Monologue, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:41:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2345471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbcsherlockian/pseuds/bbcsherlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The heat makes the air dance around us. Get ready, get ready. We don't even need to light a match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Story of Rapid Oxidation

Now look at me, now look at me, falling into your mouth like water and there’s nothing either of us can do about it.

I know you’re dangerous and I also know that you’re the furthest thing from ‘dangerous’ I have ever encountered- but us, if there ever were to be an us, would be fatal. This isn’t an us. This is only kissing. I am me and you are you and our mouths are-- we are-- didn’t you listen to me? This is dangerous.

It’s hard to abstain when your skin is screaming but look at me, I am evidence that everything is possible. My cells were crying out for so long, so long that I don’t think you even realised. You never heard, not once. Maybe this is how I’ll die; wrapped up in you. How horrible.

It’s like I couldn’t help it, in the end. Like how two atoms in a room, floating, aimless, moving amongst every other thing they possibly can; they’ll eventually find each other. Drifting particles and a cataclysmic reaction. We are the collision, this is it, this is it. Get ready for the fire. 

Some things are meant to be bad for you and some things are meant to be good for you and I never quite worked out which was which. Like red meat and red wine. Red hearts, sanguine bodies. I found myself falling backwards into your arms which I knew couldn’t catch me; I knew you were three thousand miles away. 

I can hear you thinking and you are thinking, ‘stop thinking, stop thinking,’ and you are thinking, ‘I can taste the smoke behind your eyes.’ How wonderful it is. You’re thinking about me while our mouths kiss. Our thoughts don’t, but the sentiment’s there. Not an us, not an us.

Do you know how long I waited for you to turn around and catch me by my shoulder and do-- this. Exactly this. Do you know--

Of course not. Of course you don’t. It was a long time to have skin which screams. Nothing here is quantifiable, not anymore.

These sort of things are supposed to give you inspiration, but all it gave me was long, solid, drawn-out violin notes, crying out into a darkness where afternoon sun resided, shifted, shed light on absolutely nothing at all. There’s a sort of night inside me which is sending me hurtling into a place, a fever place where everything eventually drowns.

It’s just a mask, though - there’s no such thing as this - it’s just a mask because human beings need physical security, it’s just a mask, half of everyone’s emotions aren’t even real. Everything is on a spectrum. We are a social construct and so are our ideas. Our wants that we think we have, or once had, or hope we might have.

Stop kissing me. My arms pull you closer.

How is this fine, how is this acceptable? We were good how we were, how we were not five minutes ago. You will kill me with this tenderness, brandished so often as an unsuspecting murder weapon. We will make each other weak until we have nothing to fill the space between the flesh, only cobwebs.

Stop kissing me. The kettle’s boiled. I have a text. The sun is dying and we need to close the curtains. You’ll miss your favourite television show. My eyes are too warm. You’re not close enough.

come closer come closer come closer

You’ll destroy me. I’ll destroy you. I shrug. You know, soon we’ll be nothing but ashes, dancing perpetually towards the sun. 

Well? What of it?


End file.
